


Saferwaters

by Astrals (Evoxine)



Series: Ignoct Writing Weekend 2018 [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Ignoct Week 2018, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 20:06:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14880354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evoxine/pseuds/Astrals
Summary: Ignis, Noctis realises, has a tendency to hide his injuries.





	Saferwaters

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Ignoct Writing Weekend 2018.
> 
> Prompts used:  
> • Place: Campsite  
> • Quote: “Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.” ― Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley  
> • Genre: Angst (unintentionally hehe)

Ignis, Noctis realises, has a tendency to hide his injuries.

He finds out after a particularly tough bounty hunt involving a whole herd of elder coeurls. None of them had the luck of escaping unharmed, with Gladio sustaining the worst injuries of the lot. The nearest haven’s barely fifteen minutes away, but even _thinking_ about the walk there is excruciating.

“Here,” Ignis says, passing Gladio a hi-potion as soon as they’re in the clear. There’s a crack across the left lens of his glasses. “Take this before you pass out from blood loss, please.”

Noctis eyes the large gash in Gladio’s side, grimacing as blood oozes from the wound, thick and viscous. He hears the now-familiar crush of the potion, and Gladio exhales in relief as his skin starts to stitch itself back together. The new skin is pink and tender to the touch, but it’s definitely miles better than an open wound, inches wide.

“Noct,” Ignis continues, fishing out a regular potion. “I don’t have anything stronger, unfortunately. We used most of our curatives during the battle. I’ll have to obtain more tomorrow, but for now, use this. It should be enough to alleviate most of the pain.”

The bottle is cool in his grip, a welcomed sensation against the skin of his palms, warm with the amount of magic he had to use during the fight.

“That’s okay,” Noctis says. “I’ll be fine.”

Nodding, Ignis passes their last potion over to Prompto, who consumes it after a loud declaration of thanks.

Gladio places a large hand on Ignis’ shoulder. “Do you not need one?” He gestures to the blood staining the fabric of Ignis’ shirt.

“I’m quite alright,” Ignis says, nudging his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “Just scrapes and aches, and I’ll be able to tend to them once we’ve set up camp. I’ve been in worse predicaments.”

But he doesn’t meet Noctis’ gaze when he speaks, a telltale sign of Ignis lying that Noctis had figured out years ago.

“Specs,” he begins, but Ignis simply shakes his head and continues making for the haven.

 

 

 

  
The night’s quiet, apart from the low crackling of fire. Gladio’s already asleep, and Prompto’s curled up on a chair with his camera. Noctis stares at the lines of Ignis’ back as the latter works to clean their dishes, his shoulders still perfectly squared. To any other person, Ignis would seem perfectly fine. But they’re so attuned to each other’s mannerisms after years of growing up together – and simply being with each other – that Noctis can tell that something is wrong.

“Ignis.” Noctis waits until his advisor’s turned around to face him before continuing. “Take off your shirt.”

There’s the faintest crease between Ignis’ eyebrows.

“Noct –” At the look on Noctis’ face, however, Ignis heaves a sigh and drops the plate in his hands.

“It looks worse than it is,” Ignis says, deft fingers slipping buttons through holes. But Noctis also knows him well enough to detect his white lies. Dirtied fabric falls off broad shoulders, and Noctis feels his heart stutter when he sees the extent of the bruising all down Ignis’ ribs.

“Oh, Iggy,” he says softly, voice taut and broken.

“I’m alright, Noct.”

Noctis fights back the urge to snap at Ignis, to tell him that _no, it’s obvious that you’re not alright_. Instead, he closes the distance between them and reaches out to splay gentle fingers across Ignis’ sides. The bruises are, for the lack of a better word, hideous. They’re blotchy and dark, and Noctis wonders how hard it’s been for Ignis to force himself to breathe normally for the past few hours. Ignis' breath hitches at the contact.

“Why’d you give the last one to me?” Noctis asks, staring at the blend of colours decorating Ignis’ skin.

“What do you mean?” Ignis replies, and Noctis is taken aback at the look of genuine confusion on his face when he glances up. “Of course I’d give it to you. It’s what I’ve always done, and it’s what I will continue to do.”

The firelight flickers amongst the viridian of Ignis’ eyes, and Noctis thinks that nothing else can be as warm as the way Ignis is looking at him right now.

“...Always?” How many times has Ignis done this?

Ignis simply smiles, a tender curl of the lips. Noctis sighs, lifts his hands to cup Ignis’ cheeks, and leans in close enough to press their foreheads together. If bending to accommodate Noctis’ height hurts Ignis, it doesn’t show. Both of them are unsure of what to say, and both are painfully aware of the fact that Ignis will never put his own safety and comfort above Noctis’.

Across the campfire, Prompto stealthily takes a picture of the pair.

 

 

 

  
It happens again after the battle with Commodore Highwind.

Agile and extraordinarily skilled, Aranea left them with a light quip and enough injuries to cause all four men to wince as they get to their feet. Noctis doesn’t even want to imagine the state he’d be in if he wasn’t able to warp strike to safety. Air whistles across their faces as Aranea departs.

Ignis, as usual, is the first person to collect himself. After sending his daggers away into the Armiger, he produces a couple of potions and tosses them over to Noctis.

“Prompto requires assistance,” he says, grabbing another bottle and heading over to Gladio. The sharpshooter’s sprawled across the concrete floor, his thigh bleeding heavily as he cradles an arm. “He doesn’t do too well with high mobility targets, I’m afraid. Do take one for yourself, too. You seem to be doing alright, but I wouldn’t like it if any of your wounds got infected.”

He’s across the battlefield and at Gladio’s side by the time Noctis dregs up a response, and Prompto effectively snatches his attention away when he calls for help.

Later, when they’ve set up camp, Noctis looks up from his meal and studies Ignis’ profile. His advisor’s face is as beautiful as ever, smooth skin unmarred save for a few small, old scars that Noctis knows by heart.

“Specs,” Noctis says, absently pushing a chunk of carrot away, “you’ll never lie to me, right?”

Three pairs of eyes flick over to Noctis.

“Of course not,” Ignis replies slowly. “What’s this about?”

“Are you hurt?”

Ignis sets his fork down carefully, gaze flickering down to land on his half-finished food. “Just a few scratches and bruises, it’s nothing to worry about. They don’t require curatives.”

“You’re not looking at me,” Noctis points out quietly.

“It’s not your duty to protect me, Noct,” Ignis says, gloved fingers pressing against his temples. “It is mine to defend your life, and that also means knowing when to conserve curatives. It is crucial to have extras on hand, and if consuming one means that I will have one less should I need to use it on you or anyone else, then I would rather tend to my own injuries with my own two hands.”

“Gladio –”

“Gladio is your Shield. How good of a Shield can he be – how will he protect you – if I don’t make sure he’s healthy and strong?”

At Noctis’ silence, Ignis sighs and leans back in his seat. Prompto looks away quickly, choosing to busy himself with polishing off his plate. Next to him, Gladio watches the exchange silently, hair fluttering in the night breeze.

 

 

 

  
It is Gladio who ultimately lets the cat out of the bag, just barely an hour after their dispute knee-deep in the swamp and after Ignis’ determined declaration that he will continue on by Noctis’ side despite his disability. They leave the Malboro’s corpse crumbling in the muck. The train’s waiting for them, and they should return to it, but Gladio’s words stop Noctis in his tracks, blood running cold as the magnitude of what was just said gradually dawns on him.

“He lost his sight for you, you know,” Gladio had said, gruff and bitter. Prompto and Ignis were a few feet behind, the former having taken to watching over Ignis as they traverse rough terrain.

“What?”

“Iggy. He lost his eyesight trying to keep Ardyn away from you. Put on the Ring for power, and it took his sight in exchange. He doesn’t want me to tell you, but I thought you should know.”

After that, Noctis had asked for a break.

“Are you alright?” Ignis asks, a hand curled around the handle of his cane. “If resting isn’t necessary, we should be heading back –”

“You took a lot of hits back there,” Noctis interrupts, eyes burning with sudden, unshed tears as he presses a hi-potion into Ignis’ free hand. “Take this.” He locks gazes with Prompto, and the quick look of understanding that crosses the blond’s face unnerves him.

Ignis opens his mouth to protest, but Noctis wraps his fingers around Ignis’ and squeezes for him. A relieved exhale slips out between Ignis’ lips as soon as the magic washes over him, and Noctis feels his heart shatter. How many times will Ignis continue to do this? Continue to jeopardise his own life to protect Noctis’?

“Come with me,” he says, holding onto Ignis’ elbow and fighting to keep his voice even. He plucks the cane out of Ignis’ grip and leans it against a rock.

Gladio fixes him with an unreadable look as they pass, and Prompto slaps him lightly on the arm. “Hey, big guy, help me with the fire.”

They walk far enough for privacy, but close enough so that Gladio can keep an eye on them and their safety.

“Noct, what’s the matter?”

Wordlessly, Noctis slips the visor off Ignis’ face and drops it into his pocket. Running the pads of his fingers across the scarred skin pulled taut around Ignis’ eye, Noctis watches as something inside Ignis cracks.

“You know.”

“Yeah,” Noctis says simply. He cups Ignis’ cheek, thumb resting by the side of his nose. “Why, Specs?”

The trials of the day have taken its toll on the gel holding Ignis’ hair up, and as the wind picks up speed, several chunks begin to fall into his closed eyes. He’s a beautiful person when he’s dressed up all prim and proper, but Noctis loves him best like this, just a little rumpled around the edges.

“I would do anything to keep you safe,” Ignis replies. “You know that. Your life has been one obstacle after another, a constant accumulation of pain and anguish, and while I do not have the ability to make things as good as I hope them to be, making sure you are physically well is the least I can do. Standing by and watching him hurt you? Impossible. What kind of person would I be if I did that?”

Throughout his short speech, Ignis hasn’t moved a single inch. His arms are resting by his sides, fingers curled loosely towards his palms, head bent ever-so-slightly as he presses into Noctis’ touch.

Noctis takes a breath, thumb dropping to brush against the curve of Ignis’ bottom lip, feeling the raised edge of the scar.

“You could never be anything less than the most selfless person I know,” Noctis mumbles, leaning in to bump their noses together. “But you gotta realise, Specs, that I need you with me if I’m to keep going on. Don’t do anything like that ever again. Please. Don’t be the one who saves me only to hurt me.”

He feels warmth on his lips, chaste but sweet, and he sighs into the kiss.

“Understood, Noct.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write for FFXV for a while now, so I'm super happy that this mini-event is my first :')
> 
>  
> 
> [Click for Links!](https://bluedveins.wixsite.com/evoxine)


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